Days of Recovery
by penandsword21
Summary: Malik recovers after the failure at Solomons temple and he must begin a new life within the Brotherhood. As he struggles to deal with the emptiness caused by Kadar's death he must also learn to live with the everyday trails of being a Rafiq.
1. Prologue: The Worst Day

The pain was unbearable.

An eternity filled with nothing but paralyzing, torturous pain. Pleas to God for deliverance went unanswered as the hours turned into days and the days turned into weeks. It wasn't the type of pain you could get used to, it did not numb over time. Every step upon the earth shook the wound mercilessly and each small gust of wind cut into the raw flesh like a knife. Nothing helped alleviate this pain; not drugs, not alcohol, not unconsciousness.

But the pain was not the worst part. The knowledge he suffered, this was the worst part. Knowing that he would most certainly survive this pain, while his brother Kadar had perished, was more torturous than any mere flesh wound. It stripped the assassin of his most precious drive for life and left him with the unabashed desire that he had been the one to die. The understanding that he would never again be the man he trained so hard to become, that his future held nothing but crowded walls and pitiful stares is what tortured Malik the most. The awareness that he would recover enough only to slave the rest of his days while the man responsible for his terrible losses roamed free pained him much more than a flesh wound ever could. This was the worst part.

Either that, or the smell. He smelled like death. What used to be his arm, the holy appendage which boasted the Brotherhoods deadliest weapon, was nothing more than a charred, ragged token of just how badly Malik had failed. A permanent reminder he would carry with him for the rest of his days.

When he resurfaced into consciousness, Al Maulim was seated on the cot next to his own. Malik didn't bother to speak, knowing once the old man was finished observing him, he would reveal the reason for his visit to the crippled assassin.

"Safety and peace Malik," The grand master spoke in a grave voice. "I have spoken to the Healer. She says you will have healed enough for movement when the moon is next full." Malik stared blankly at the master, his eyes dulled with sleep and his head heavy with foreboding. "You have done a great service to the Brotherhood Malik Al-Sayf. Your courage and honor prevented the artifact from falling into the hands of our enemies and led to the destruction of a large faction of templar soldiers. You succeeded where even our best assassin had failed, and for that I am eternally thankful." The mention of Altair sparked a touch of life in Malik and he spoke for the first time in many weeks.

"And what of that insufferable, arrogant bastard?" His voice was shockingly strong as his fury and suffering expelled from his mouth.

"Worry not of Altair. I have dealt with him personally. He faces a long and difficult road." The Mentor paused and looked at Malik's mutilated arm. "And it seems you do as well."

"I will be fine." Malik snapped as he attempted to sit up, a move that sent a joint wave of pain and nausea through his mangled body.

"Rest my son, you shall not suffer any longer. I am rewarding you for your duty and perseverance. You are now awarded the rank of Dai and are promoted as Rafiq of the Assassin's Bureau in Jerusalem." Malik's dark eyes widened in shock at his master decision. He did not want this, to be a scholar, keeper of a mere half-way house for his brother Assassin's to use and leave once the real work had been completed, a servant. It was shameful to his family name, to his brother Kadar's memory. But the throbbing of his wound stopped his mouth from protesting. With his missing limb, Malik could never become a master Assassin. His handicap made him a liability and he would be forever condemned to a life of parchment and ink. Another wave of pain and nausea washed over him as he lay his head back down, this time however the strongest feeling came in hatred: Hatred for the man who had so selfishly caused Malik all of this pain.

"I understand." He resigned in a defeated voice as he closed his eyes somberly. "Thank you Mentor." Al Maulim got to his feet and motioned for the Healer to reenter the room.

"You will leave at the end of the month Malik. The Brotherhood lost many today and their losses will be felt for some time. But there is always hope for those who support our cause, in whatever way they are able." He placed his withered hand on Malik's furrowed brow for a brief moment before slowly exiting the infirmary. The elder Healer came forward to check Malik's bandages and she noticed the boy's eyes beginning to squeeze together tighter and tighter.

"Do you require anything child?" The woman asked, her voice full of wizened compassion. Malik buried his face in the crook of his elbow and parted his dry lips.

"Wine." He requested in a voice as empty as death. "Wine and solitude." The woman nodded, unseen by the assassin, and left to fulfill his requests. She returned quickly and placed the alcohol in his hand. Once Malik was sure he was alone he lifted the cloth flask to his lips and drank without pause until every last drop was consumed. He dropped the hollow sack to the floor and allowed one single cry to erupt from the very depths of his soul. The plangent sound echoed through the stone room, harrowing and empty. He then fell into another state of unconsciousness, the dull pain still throbbing.

This... This was the worst part.


	2. The Departing Day

The day Malik was to leave came dark and gloomy, something he thought to be a fitting precursor to his future career path within the brotherhood. A young novice had been assigned to carry what little personal items he would be talking to his new home and Malik was greeted by several Brothers as he made the journey from the fortress to the village gates, a trek that now took three times as long due to his balance issues resulting from the injury coupled with the number of Brothers who stopped him to say goodbye. A young village girl met him at the edge of the market and, with teary eyes, handed him a pack filled with food and water for the travels ahead. Malik accepted the gift with a weary look until he remembered his brother boasting about a village girl with green eyes and freckles upon her cheeks.

"You knew my brother Kadar, did you not?" The girl nodded and then sobbed, shoving the bag into Malik's chest before turning and running away. The Dai scowled before tossing the pack to the trailing novice and walking to the stables.

"A former lover perhaps?" Abbas sneered as he brought out a tan horse for Malik to use on his journey. Malik glared at the man before motioning to the novice to begin packing down the animal. Malik donned the outer robes of an Assassin, but would be slipping into the traditional black djellaba of a Dai upon his settling into Jerusalem.

"A friend of my brothers, nothing more." Malik swiftly mounted his steed, making especially sure to use strong movements and pull the reigns tighter than normal, he refused to look weak in front of one such as Abbas.

"Are you sure you will be safe on the roads alone? In your weakened condition a journey as far as Jerusalem could seriously affect your ability to defend yourself." The inferior ranked Assassin laughed behind his breath as Malik thanked the novice for his services.

"Abbas, you should worry less about my defense and more about your own ability as an Assassin. I fear I shall not be seeing you in Jerusalem for some time if you do not devote yourself to your training. As a Dai I am required to hold all brothers to the same standard of excellence, regardless of their superior age." Malik threw the man a scorching look before rearing his horse and quickly bounding off for the holy city.

The ride was difficult and tiring, especially because the dark mood Malik left Masayf in led him to push his horse too hard; causing the animal groan in pain once they stopped. He made camp a few miles past a small settlement and apologized to his mare with a few apples that the green-eyed girl had given him. He got little sleep that night, drifting into rest for several moments before the throbbing in his arm would wake him. He repacked the small campsite before the first morning light and rode until the sun was well beyond the horizon. Another night of camping would get him to Jerusalem by sundown the following day and in best interest of the beast he had been riding Malik decided to set up camp again, this time hiding on a small cliff located above a small stream and shaded behind foliage and trees. Malik leaned against a smooth bolder and dined on a meal of pita bread and fresh dates. He noticed a small flask of wine at the bottom of the bag and sent a silent blessing to the green-eyed villager before taking a gulp. While not as sweet as the wine offered in the fortress, this alcohol had the sting of weightlessness and eased the ghost pain of Malik's finally healed wound. He got a few dreamless hours of rest that night, rising the next morning with the first light of dawn. Once the horse was packed Malik went to the stream to refill his water carrier. A splash of cool water on his face and the back of his neck helped him into a state of hyper-awareness and he got up to return to his animal when a soft sound caught his expertly honed attention. A light melody, from an air-concentrated instrument, sounded through the brush up the stream a few feet. Silently, the assassin approached to investigate, his hand clutching tightly at the wickedly sharp sword in his belt. He drew his weapon and pulled back the hanging vines without a sound, gazing out onto the clearing with the eyes of a hawk.

A slender woman crouched in the clearing with her back turned to Malik. She held in her hand a small knife and seemed to be cutting plants from the bank of the stream and placing them in an old woven basket. The melodic sound came from her whistling as she absentmindedly harvested the herbs and flowers. Her appearance was something quite out of the ordinary. Her body was smaller than average and Malik could tell that she was quite short, even crouched over as she was. Her hair was hidden from view by a decorative scarf that wrapped around her head like a turban. However, the woman wore nothing else on her body save for a pair of rolled up leggings, exposing every part of her leg below the knee, and a strange wrapping around her chest. Her upper and lower back, complete with small dimples located just above the waistline of the leggings, were uncovered and caused a blush in the habitually stoic Assassin. Malik caught sight of what appeared to be a ghastly scar running the length of the woman's back, from her right shoulder blade to her left hip. She straightened her spine as she gathered her materials and Malik dropped to the ground just as the woman made to turn around. With a reddening blush the Dai swiftly hurried back to his horse and grabbed hold of the reigns. He let out a long sigh and rubbed his face, covering his mouth a little longer than the rest of his still blushing features. His horse, impatient and bored, cast a whinny and asked to continue their journey. Another sigh came from the one-armed Dai before he mounted the beast and urged him in the direction of Jerusalem.

"What a day this will be..." Malik announced to no one, the image of the mystery gardener fresh in his mind.


	3. The First Day: Part One

Malik arrived in Jerusalem just after sundown. He left his trusty steed with the stableman who had been hired by the Brotherhood to care for the animals owned by Masyaf while their owners were 'preoccupied' within the city. The Dai walked slowly towards the city gates and watched as people slipped past the four menacing guards there. Normally an assassin would just take cover with the pacing scholars because apart from the myriad of weapons held by an Assassin, their costumes were virtually the same. But Malik knew this would not work for him. His inability to form a basic prayerful stance left him with little options with which to infiltrate the city. The young man could feel his anger rising when a group of children suddenly pushed into him, throwing the assassin to the ground. With a growl the one-armed man struggled to push himself to his feet, only to find help from one of the guards.

"You intolerable brats!" He yelled as the other guards chased after the kids, "Be respectful of the crippled!" Malik body tensed to stone as the guard shook the dirt from his quickly browning robes. He had never been this close to a guard before without immediately slicing their throat afterwards. "Please forgive the children, wary traveler. They are of the rich district and are eager to forget that their good fortune comes from the backs of men like us." Malik said nothing as the guard squeezed his good shoulder and turned to leave. He began to finally release the breath he had been holding when the guard turned around and gave him a curious stare. "Are you entering the city? You'd better hurry, we've been getting word an assassin has breached the gates. Protect yourself, friend. May Allah watch over you." Silently Malik nodded and walked past the guards without a second glance. They were not intimidated or even the least bit bothered by the Dai. His handicap led them to assume he was no real threat to their city. Malik held his bag closer and hurried through the streets, weaving through the finer people of Jerusalem and all their silks and jewels. If the city guards wanted to underestimate the assassin, that would be their mistake. Malik reached the Assassin's Bureau located at the edge of the rich district just as the sun began to set, casting the glittering city in a haze of orange and gold. He looked up at the roof, where the main entrance sat and scowled. It was a lot harder to scale buildings without the balance and gripping ability of two arms. With a sigh the Assassin slowly climbed the ladder behind the building. With every peg upward the man could feel his pride plunge deeper into darkness. This ladder was meant for deliveries and civilians, not for trained Assassin's like he. Malik paid the glorious city before him little mind and quickly slipped into the resting room of the bureau.

"Home sweet home." The Dai sighed into the emptiness, dropping his pack to the ground and stretching his travel weary limbs. It had been a long journey and though he would not like to admit it, his strength was still lacking due to the many weeks of inactivity. He entered the main room and sighed again as he rubbed the back of his neck, looking over the absolute mess the last Rafiq had left the bureau in. Maps were strewn about everywhere, used quills littered the floor with their inked tips dry and useless and, worst of all, there was no wine of food to be found anywhere. The Dai released a throaty growl as he bent to pick up the first stack of maps. He looked down at a horribly done map of Jerusalem's rich district and closed his eyes in irritation.

'I'll have to redo all of these maps. If I ever meet the old Rafiq I will kill him with my own blade.' Malik continued to develop his plans of murder when a small sound snapped him to attention. Past the Rafiq's wall-length desk, and through the cloth covered doors, small, mouse like footsteps could be heard. The Dai silently placed the inaccurate map on the desk and unsheathed his short sword. The bureau had not been this messy when he, Kadar, and Altair had stopped before the great failure in Solomon's Temple. The Rafiq had been an old, senile man, but this mess was off-putting, worrisome. Perhaps he had not left in peace, perhaps he had been taken by the templar's, in search for information on their enemies. Malik slipped through the cloth drapery and found himself in a dark hallway. He knew this led to the Dai's sleeping room and the bureau's washing room and at the end of the hall he could see the flickering of candlelight and once again hear the footsteps. It was not an assassin, who have all been trained from a very young age the deadly importance of silent stepping. As the Dai neared the room he could see movement through the bottom of the wooden door in the shadows cast by the candle. Just as Malik was about to kick the door open the tiny footsteps approached hit position and pulled the door back. Everything happened in an instant. Malik kicked out his leg forcing the unknown suspect to the ground before straddling their strangely wide hips and holding his knife to their smooth, pale throat. Bright and familiar blue eyes stared up in panic as long fingers wrapped themselves instinctively around the hand holding the deadly weapon. Wild flaxen hair, unlike anything the young Dai had seen before, burst from the frightened woman in waves, covering the floor like a rug. Malik stared at the unusual woman for several moments before he realized where they were and why they were in that exact position. He gripped the knife tighter and set his brow, determined to get answers.

"Who are you?" He snarled, causing the woman to flinch uncomfortably. "What are you doing here?"

"I-I am Sahar" She cried out, her voice a trembling, soft soprano. "I am the healer of this bureau, hired by Master Ludin."

"And where is the Rafiq? Who has taken him?" Sahar gazed up at the assassin with questioning eyes.

"No one has taken him. He left this morning for Maysaf." Malik pushed his knife forward just enough for Sahar to feel the icy metal upon her skin.

"Then who caused such destruction? I have never seen the bureau in such disarray."

"Master Ludin is the cause for this. He turned the place over in his search for his scholarly tombs. I was out till just moments ago, else the bureau would not be in this sorry state." Malik could feel the fear emanating from Sahar's slight form, but he did not relinquish his position. Instead he lowered his face to hers, casting a menacing shadow over her fair complexion.

"Lies!" He spat, earning another flinch. "I was in this exact bureau little over a month ago. Master Ludin is absent minded, but not as disorganized as this, and you were absolutely not here. Now tell me who you are and what has happened to the Rafiq, or things will not end well." Sahar felt tears welling in her eyes. How could she make this man see the truth? 'If only Master Ludin had not left in such a hurry, he could resolve this issue with ease.'

"Please sir, you must believe me!" Sahar pleaded, her eyes wide with dread. "I have lived in this bureau for almost a year, aiding Master Ludin and healing the visiting brothers. I remember when you came last time, you were with the assassin Altair and your younger brother Kadar. I was forbidden from being in the bureau at that time due to the severity of the mission." Malik was taken aback at this. While everyone knew Altair's name, Kadar had been little more than a novice. Not important enough to be remembered by a spy or an enemy. "I normally clean up Master Ludin's messes, but this morning I went out to gather some rare herbs for the incoming Rafiq."

"What proof do you have of this?"

"L-look on the desk." Malik slowly gazed across the room and indeed saw an old wicker basket filled to the brim with colorful flowers and plants. Over the wooden chair rested a decorative scarf that settled in a strange place within the Dai's mind. "Pl-please sir. Believe me." Malik glared back down into Sahar's eyes and a flash of a memory blinded him. However, before he could make sense of the image it had disappeared. He released a defeated breath before pulling his hand away from her slender neck, her long fingers dropped limply upon her chest. Without another word Malik got to his feet and exited the room, leaving Sahar to collect herself in solitude.

When he reentered the Rafiq's work room he found a messenger pigeon waiting for him. The color of the ribbon attached notified that the message was of great importance. Malik opened the note and read it thoroughly before he plunged it into the incense burner and sparked the flame, destroying the paper in a rage. 'What a wonderful way to begin my new position.' Malik thought venomously as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Slowly the Dai walked through the curtain and returned to the room he had just exited. Sahar was sitting on the floor, separating the herbs into piles. When Malik entered her room he saw her unconsciously flinch away from him.

"I apologize for my actions earlier. I have just received word from Ludin. It seems you were telling the truth." Her face brightened slightly and Malik found himself wondering what sort of relationship this young woman had with the elder Rafiq. "He apologizes for the state he left the bureau and insists that you remain as the healer. As the new Rafiq I shall accept his request."

"Thank you." She replied instantly, her eyes soft. Malik remained at his position between the doorframe, unsure of what to do next. He had little experience with normal women. The garden girls were available for use by all master assassins, but time spent with them meant very little talking.

"Do you usually work in your room, or..." Malik trailed off noticing again a sense of familiarity within the woman's bright blue eyes.

"Ah, well," She cleared her throat, obviously feeling out of place conversing so casually with the man who had almost killed her minutes prior. "Normally I work at the desk next to the Rafiq, but I can go where ever you would prefer." She was very cautious of him and Malik didn't blame her. Another sigh escaped him.

"No, no that is fine. Please continue like you normally would. I must get used to this set up anyway."

"Thank you Master Malik," Her smile lost some of its trepidation.

"Please, I am no master. Just call me Malik." The woman nodded and began to gather her things back into the wicker basket. Malik exited the room again and returned to the main area, his heart dropping slightly at the state of the room. The Dai walked to the edge of the room and began to clean. He heard Sahar enter the room and stop in the doorway.

"_This has got to be a joke._" Malik's head snapped to attention upon Sahar's use of a different language. He recognized it as the language of Acre and the pale people who followed King Richard. The blonde was looking around the room slowly, her face a mask of disgust. "Ludin_ you rat bastard_." He recognized the name of the previous Rafiq and knew she must be cursing him. The Dai chuckled quietly and Sahar realized that Malik had heard her. A blush rose to her cheeks.

"Please Malik, do not worry about the mess. Allow me to take care of it. Please rest, you must be worn from traveling so far." Malik held up his hand in dismissal.

"You speak English. Is that where you are from?" Sahar began to gather the empty inkbottles in a sack to be refilled.

"Yes. My family is from England, but I was born in Acre. Please Master Malik, I will clean this. You must rest." She walked over and crouched beside the Dai, attempting to take the maps he had already piled up. She grabbed them and tried to stand, but Malik had them in a vice. "Master Malik, I told you I am here to help. Please allow me to clean this." His eyes turned cold.

"And I told you not to call me that. I am in charge of this bureau now and I will clean what I please!" He knew he was being ridiculously stubborn and that Sahar would probably get everything clean faster and more efficiently without him, but this was his building, allah be damned, and he was going to help. Sahar stood up swiftly, not dropping the maps and Malik followed in suit, his 6 foot 1 frame towering over her. Blue eyes glared up at brown ones without fear.

"But I know that you are tired and hungry and that your wound is hurting. Just sit and eat and I will tend to this." Malik's glare intensified. 'How dare she!'

"Sahar, I will decide when I am tired and I will decide when I need medicine!" He tore the maps from her hands and marched to the long desk where he slammed the papers down for dramatic effect. "And I am not hungry." Silence filled the air as the two continued to stare at each other. And then, as if by some divine intervention, Malik's stomach let out a feral growl. He closed his eyes and cursed himself into the deepest pit of hell.

"Your room is the last one on the right, across from the washroom. I will bring some food and wine for you in a moment." Sahar's voice had grown close and Malik opened his eyes to see her holding his pack out to him, a kind smile on her lips. Silently the Dai exited the room, leaving Sahar to clean up the mess alone.


	4. The First Day: Part Two

The Rafiq's room was simple and comfortable. Several large Persian rugs hung from the walls along with the flag of the brotherhood. A bookshelf holding the creed's most important tombs stood tall next to a large wooden writing desk. Malik made his way to the rather large bed opposite of the door and lowered himself onto it slowly. He anchored the heel of his right boot with the toe of his left and slipped his foot free before repeating the action. Next the assassin released the thick leather belt from his midsection and pulled the blood red sash limp, allowing it to fall to the floor. The first, shorter white robe was always easier to remove. It had no sleeves and quickly slipped over the Dai's head and fell to the floor. The second robe always gave him more trouble. It was longer and had more form fitting sleeves, which were difficult to take off with only one hand at the ready. He held the hem of his right sleeve to his mouth and bit down, gaining enough hold in order to snake his hand through and pull the rest of the robe over his head. Malik looked silently at the pile of clothing at his feet. Never again would he don the real robes of an assassin. Lost in darkness the Dai did not notice as Sahar entered the room backwards, using her bottom to open the heavy wooden door.

"I'm not sure what you prefer to eat so I just brought a large assortment and you can..." She trailed off after turning around and catching Malik in his state of undress. A bright pink rushed to her face and she immediately squeezed her eyes shut. The Dai surfaced from his dark thoughts and gazed curiously at the woman. "My apologies Malik, I should not have intruded. I will wait outside until you are ready for me."

"There is no need. I apologize for my state," He groped at his missing limb subconsciously. "I understand it could be quite shocking." Blue eyes popped back into focus and the blush began to glow.

"N-no! It's not your injury! Believe me I have seen worse. _Shit!_ That's not what I meant, I mean I have seen naked men before but this was just unexpected. I just didn't think I would see this on the first day and... _Oh god what am I saying!_ Please accept my deepest apologies." Sahar grew more frustrated the longer Malik stared at her and he could not stop the laughter that burst from his mouth as she attempted to explain herself in Arabic, while obviously chastising herself in English. At his laughter she stopped speaking and waited for him to regain his composure, her face bright as the dying sun.

"Peace Sahar, peace. I fear we both have spent too much time apologizing to each other. I do not mean to make you feel uncomfortable, as I am sure you did not mean to intrude. It has been a long day and we would both do well with some rest." The woman smiled in agreement before setting the tray of food down at the wooden desk. Malik surveyed the arrangement while Sahar opened the bag she had strapped over her shoulder. Many different fruits and vegetables decorated the platter, along with a flask of wine, a loaf of unleavened bread and goblet of water. He first reached for a bright pear but paused as he took notice of a bowl of grey paste that sat next to his intended fruit. The Dai gently grabbed the bowl and brought it to his nose. The smell was quite unappetizing.

"Sahar, what is this paste?" He asked, disgust evident in his voice. The woman looked up in question before her face dropped and her hand snaked forward, attempting to slap the bowl out of the Dai's hand. Malik, in true testament to his years of training, caught Sahar's hand in the crook of his elbow and twisted in such a way that she slammed into him. Her arm had been pulled behind her and she faced away from the assassin, the blush returning to her face as she felt the heat from his bare skin all the way down her back.

"Never come at me with such sudden movements!" Hissed the Rafiq, his breath stirring the strands of blonde hair that had broken free of Sahar's long braid. "Had I been holding a weapon you could have been very seriously injured." Malik dropped the hold he had on Sahar and she stumbled forward.

"I was only trying to prevent you from poisoning yourself. My actions were impulsive but my intentions were pure."

"And why, may I ask, did you decide to place a bowl full of poison next to my dinner?" The assassin snarled.

"I didn't do it on purpose!" Sahar snapped back, her cheeks still red. "It's a healing paste for your wound. I didn't think you would try to eat something so obviously inedible." Malik felt his eye twitch. Did this girl think him simple minded?

"There is nothing about this paste that could be easily seen as dangerous! It was placed next to the pears!"

"The smell does not offend you? I cannot breathe around the stuff." Malik brought the bowl to his nose once again. He could smell the foulness close up, but not unless he took deep breaths above the paste.

"I can hardly smell anything foul." Sahar sighed and reached her hand out to the Dai.

"I have a specially developed senses." She explained impatiently. Was she mocking him now? Malik huffed indignantly as he shoved the medicine in her hand. "Please sit and eat, and I will address your shoulder."

"I do not want your help. My wound is already healed." Malik huffed stubbornly as he lifted the wine to his mouth. Sahar glared at the Dai while he purposely ignored her and finished the wine.

"Malik, I understand that you are a Dai and the Rafiq of this bureau, but not accepting my help is very childish. Your wound may be healed but it is still open to infection and harmful scarring. Besides, I'm sure it is still quite painful."

"I am fine." He barked, his tone as deadly as his eyes. Sahar, however, did not back down. Instead she held her head up higher and quickly grabbed the platter of food, keeping it out of the Dai's hungry reach.

"If you will not accept my medicine, I will not offer my food." She turned on her heel and started for the door, only to find it blocked by a very menacing Malik.

"This behavior is very unbecoming for a woman. I will not be ordered around like a small, unruly child." Malik closed the space between them and looked down into large blue eyes. "I am the Rafiq. I decide what happens within these walls." Defiance burned under her light brows for several moments before she sighed and fell to submission.

"I am not a woman Malik, I am a Healer. Please allow me to do my job. It is what I owe the Brotherhood." Gently, Sahar pushed the tray into Malik's arm and took a small step back. The Dai looked down at the food before releasing a sigh.

"Alright, you may address my shoulder. But I will require more wine after you are finished and then you are not to disturb me for the rest of the night." He strode past her and set the tray back on the desk, this time sitting on the edge of his bed to enjoy the spoils.

"_That wasn't so hard, now was it?_" Sahar mumbled as she began to unwrap a roll of bandaging. Malik glared at her in annoyance of her use of English. She responded with a sneaky smile and began her work, placing one knee upon his bed while leaning closer with the other. Her close proximity only doubled his irritation, but as her long fingers ghosted over his left arm, Malik fell silent. For several noiseless moments Sahar merely touched. Touching his shoulder, touching his back, touching the end of what used to be his arm. Malik forced himself to remain unaffected by her movements, but that was proving difficult. Unlike when the previous Healer had worked on his arm, Sahar's fingers felt like their own medicine altogether. Instead of pain from the afflicted area, Malik felt only the sensation of touch. He bit into an apple and watched her work from the corner of his eye. Her face was the epitome of concentration. In fact, she looked almost lost within her actions, her lips moving unconsciously as her eyes surveyed the damage.

"I am going to remove these bandages and wash your wound. If you feel any sever discomfort please let me know. Sharp pain at this point means underground sores and improperly healed scar tissue." Malik nodded once before continuing to eat. Sahar pulled a small silver blade from her bag and began to cut away the soiled bandages. The discomfort Malik normally felt when having his arm touched had changed somewhat. He still felt out of place but each time Sahar's warm skin would brush against his own the unease would disappear, leaving only the sensation of touch. The bandages came off with no trouble and Sahar let them drop to the ground before pulling a piece of fabric from her pouch. Without hesitation she leaned over Malik's lap and grabbed the goblet of water from the food tray. Frayed blonde hair flit across the Dai's chin and neck, sparking fire where they touched. He held his breath. "This may feel slightly uncomfortable. Please let me know if it is too much."

"Just get on with it." He snapped, uncomfortable with how long they had been positioned so close together. He could not move without feeling her touch. Malik had never been this physically close to anyone other than Kadar and he did not like it. Sahar ran the wet cloth down the length of what was left of the Dai's arm, causing his hair to stand at end. Malik hissed in discomfort and Sahar paused.

"Is it too painful?" Her soft voice was full of concern. Malik scowled.

"Be quiet and hurry." She followed his order without a sound and soon reached the cauterized end of his amputated limb.

"_Oh shit._" Malik snapped his head to the side and glared at Sahar.

"What did you say? What is wrong?" She looked up at him with a plead in her eyes.

"You have sand in your scar tissue. Your bandages were not wrapped properly. I-I'm afraid I need to get it out and it's going to hurt." Malik felt the empathy in the woman's voice and hated her for it. Allah, would this ever be over?

"Do it quickly, I wish to sleep." He curled his fist around the back of the desk chair and set his jaw in preparation. Sahar hesitated.

"Would you like more wine?" Malik responding glare silenced the woman and she promptly went about removing the sand. Pulling a long pair of tweezers from her bag and a spyglass to magnify the miniature rocks, Sahar began her work. Malik tightened his grip around the chair; disgusted by the feeling his broken nerve endings were sending through his body. "When I was a young girl I fell through the mirror my father had set up in his examination room. I was trying to reach the notebook he kept his anatomical sketches in and slipped." Malik grunted in disinterest as Sahar pulled a few grains from his skin. "He wasn't angry at me, only upset that I was sure to receive a scar along my hand where the glass had shattered. It took almost three hours to get all of the glass out. He asked what had been so important, enough for me to cause myself so much harm. I told him I wanted to see the birds he had drawn, the ones from England." The pain felt less intense as Malik focused on Sahar's speaking. He turned his head to watch as she worked, her lips curled into a soft smile and her eyes secure and focused. "He told me that if I ever wanted to see the birds, I only had to imagine them. Decide for myself what the birds of England looked like, that way I could see them whenever I wanted and I wouldn't have to use his book. He said it was wiser to be self reliant than to live by the visions of others. _We can never discover the truth about things unless we decide it for ourselves._" Sahar repeated the phrase to Malik in Arabic as she put the tweezers and spyglass down. She then took up the bowl full of paste and gently spread the thick liquid across Malik's appendage. It was cool against his scarring and gave him a numbness he had never before felt with this wound.

"Your father was also a healer." Malik observed as Sahar wrapped his arm. She looked into his eyes for an instant before dropping is gaze.

"Yes." She offered no other explanation and Malik did not question her further. This was the second time he had asked about her personal history and the second time she had given a curt response. He began to wonder how exactly Sahar had come to serve in this particular bureau. She tied the edges of the cloth in a tight knot and relinquished her hold on Malik's arm.

"That was rather painless." Malik commented, raising his hand to touch the new bandages.

"Pain can always be overcome by distraction. If we set our minds away from pain, we take away the power it has over us." With a smile the Healer stood from the bed and adjusted her dress as it had shifted and bunched during her tinkering.

"Wise words." Malik commented, staring at the ground to avoid catching a glimpse of Sahar's other 'distractions'. He had been able to avoid looking at her while she worked but it was impossible not to feelher against him. Malik may be a Dai and trained Assassin, but he was also a man. Living with this woman might prove more difficult that he first imagined.

"I will leave you to rest now Malik. You should be without pain until the morning. I can give you some edible sedatives then." She bent gracefully and picked up all of the fabric upon the floor, including Malik's Assassin robes. His hand grabbed hers without warning.

"Please, leave those here. I will discard them myself." Sahar blushed as Malik's soft tone and warm touch before nodding and setting his robes gently upon the edge of his bed. She picked up the empty tray and lowered her head in respect to the Dai.

"Good night Master Malik."

"Sahar." Malik called as she reached the open door. The blonde turned slightly and gazed questioningly at the man. "Thank you for your assistance. I feel... better." The smile that bloomed upon the woman's lips sent a shiver down the Dai's spine. He could almost still feel her long fingers caressing his skin.

"Thank you for allowing me stay. I know you must be cautious of me. I will prove my loyalty and sincerity. I owe my life to this Brotherhood and will not soon forget it." And she was gone, the door closed behind her and nothing but questions within Malik's mind.

Sleep came easy that night.

**So, there's my 4 chapter introduction to the story. I really hope you enjoy it because I love this project. Malik must have been super messed up after the incident and I wanted to explore that side of his character. Sahar is, admittedly, a little mary-jane, but fear not! Her character will be given a lot of dimension very quickly. I wanted to make her English because I want her to be completely anti-malik. He was raised in a brotherhood of all middle eastern men and it'll be great to see him try to work with an educated Englishwoman. Yay for breaking down boundaries! **

**Anyway, anything in italic is spoken English, which Malik does not understand. So assume that when Sahar is talking like that, Malik has NO IDEA what she is saying. He'll start to pick some stuff up, but it'll be funny for someone to have an advantage over him. **

**Yes, Altair will be in this fic because he is every bit apart of Malik's transformation as Malik is to his. Plus I love him. So, there. **

**Let me know if anything stands out to you an inaccurate or ooc. I'm trying to stay as true to character is humanly possible.**

**I own nothing but my characters and the plot. Thank you Ubisoft for this amazing, open-ended world. **


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